Page 19 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)

“ M arriage appears to be treating you rather well, Jane, despite your… unusual circumstances. You’re positively glowing!”

Diana’s eyes sparkled with barely contained curiosity as she settled more comfortably into her chair, a teacup balanced delicately between her slender fingers.

Despite being the younger twin by mere minutes, she had always possessed a certain ethereal quality that made her seem simultaneously more fragile and more perceptive than her more outspoken sister.

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the drawing room, casting a golden glow over the elegant furniture and illuminating the fine china tea service that had been arranged with military precision on the table between them.

The scene might have been plucked from a watercolor painting depicting perfect aristocratic leisure, were it not for the tension visible in Jane’s shoulders despite her welcoming smile.

“If I’m glowing, dear sister, it’s merely the flush of righteous indignation,” Jane replied, though her tart tone was softened by the genuine pleasure in her expression.

After days of navigating the treacherous waters of her marriage without a confidante, Diana’s arrival felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman.

“The Duke keeps a household that would make even Mama’s exacting standards seem positively bohemian.”

Diana’s laugh, light as wind chimes in a summer breeze, filled the room.

“I can scarcely imagine it. Mama spent three hours yesterday reorganizing the linen closets because they lacked ‘proper hierarchical arrangement.’ Father nearly had an apoplexy when he found her instructing the new maid on the correct number of folds for his handkerchiefs.”

Jane found herself laughing in response, the sound rusty from disuse.

How long had it been since she’d genuinely smiled? Only a few days into her marriage, yet it felt like months had passed since that disastrous masquerade ball that had precipitated her current situation.

“Oh, Diana, how I’ve missed you.” She reached across to squeeze her sister’s hand.

“Tell me everything that’s happened since the wedding!

Has Lady Houndshire finally stopped circulating rumors about the hasty ceremony?

Has Mama recovered from the shock of having two daughters married in succession? ”

“Lady Houndshire has found new prey, thank heavens,” Diana scoffed, carefully setting her teacup down.

“Apparently, Lord Weatherby’s youngest son was discovered in a rather compromising position with the French ambassador’s niece.

Mama is simultaneously devastated by your absence and triumphant about securing such an advantageous match, poor woman.

The emotional contradiction has her redecorating the east wing. ”

Jane shook her head, imagining the whirlwind of activity at Drownshire House. Her mother had always channeled emotional turmoil into renovations—a trait Jane suspected she had inherited in some way.

“And how is Papa faring under the strain of matrimonial victories?”

“Hiding in his study, naturally,” Diana replied with a fond smile.

“Though he did mention at breakfast yesterday that the Duke required a surprisingly modest dowry, and that ‘a gentleman wo values character over coin is a man of sense.’ I believe that’s Papa’s way of saying he hopes you’ll be happy. ”

Jane’s expression softened. Her father’s inability to express affection directly had been a constant throughout their childhood, but she had learned to interpret his practical considerations as the closest he could come to emotional support.

“And what of you, Diana? Has Mama already begun parading potential suitors before you, now that Lydia, Marian, and I have been successfully matched?”

Diana’s cheeks colored slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap. “There may have been a few carefully arranged ‘chance encounters’ at Lady Cavendish’s musical evening last week. Though I believe Mama is allowing herself a brief respite before launching a full campaign for my future.”

“And were any of these chance encounters remotely tolerable?” Jane leaned forward, genuinely curious.

Diana had always been the quieter twin, less inclined to challenge suitors to debates. Her reserved nature often attracted a different caliber of gentlemen than those who approached Jane.

“Lord Hartley was unexpectedly knowledgeable about botany,” Diana admitted, a hint of interest animating her usually serene features.

“We had quite a fascinating discussion about the medicinal properties of certain garden herbs. And Mr. Thompson’s younger brother has a rather impressive library, though he seems to regard it mainly as an inherited obligation rather than a genuine resource. ”

Jane opened her mouth to inquire further, but the drawing room door swung open with a suddenness that spoke of purpose rather than casual entry.

Both sisters turned toward the sound, their postures automatically straightening in response to the commanding presence that now filled the doorway.

Richard stood there, his tall figure outlined by the darker corridor behind him. Even from a distance, Jane could see the tightness around his mouth that indicated displeasure, though his expression remained perfectly composed.

“Your Grace,” Diana greeted before Jane could speak, rising to bob a flawless curtsy. “How kind of you to join us. Your home is absolutely magnificent.”

“Miss Brandon.” Richard’s bow was precise and correct, his tone revealing nothing beyond perfect civility. “Welcome to Myste House. I trust your journey was comfortable?”

“Perfectly so, thank you,” Diana replied, her voice carrying that particular note of deference that Jane had never quite mastered. “The spring weather made for an exceptionally pleasant ride.”

Richard nodded, his gaze shifting to Jane. Something flickered in his hazel eyes—frustration, perhaps, or a more complex emotion she couldn’t immediately name. “Duchess, might I have a word?”

The formal address stirred Jane’s irritation, but she masked it with a pleasant smile. “Of course, Your Grace.” She turned to Diana with an apologetic smile. “Please excuse us for a moment, Sister.”

Diana nodded, settling back into her chair with the demure posture that had been drilled into them since childhood. “Of course. I shall peruse the latest scandal sheet while you attend to your husband.”

She lifted the periodical from the side table, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.

Jane followed Richard into the corridor, noting with some surprise that he didn’t close the door fully behind them. Instead, he left it ajar, the crack just wide enough to maintain propriety by ensuring they remained within sight of Diana, if not within earshot.

“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” Jane asked, her tone deliberately light, though she could feel tension building between her shoulders.

The corridor seemed infinitely smaller with Richard standing so close, his presence dominating the space in a way that made her acutely aware of her physical response to his proximity.

“You have invited a guest without consulting me,” Richard began, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge of displeasure. “While we are supposedly on our honeymoon.”

Jane blinked, momentarily nonplussed by the unexpected complaint. “Diana is hardly a ‘guest’ in the formal sense,” she reasoned, working to keep her voice even. “She is my sister.”

“That is irrelevant to the matter at hand.” Richard’s jaw tightened visibly.

“We are newly married. Society expects us to be entirely absorbed in each other for at least a fortnight. Having your family visit us during this time suggests that something is amiss with our union, or that we have no regard for proper appearances.”

Heat rose to Jane’s cheeks, indignation flaring in her chest. “I was not aware that I needed your permission to see my own sister,” she huffed, her voice rising slightly despite her efforts to maintain her composure.

“Particularly when our marriage is precisely what you describe—a matter of appearances rather than genuine attachment.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Lower your voice,” he commanded, glancing toward the partially open door. “This is precisely the sort of behavior I cautioned against. A duchess does not engage in corridor disputes like a common fishwife.”

“And a duke does not dictate when his wife may see her family,” Jane retorted, her voice rising rather than falling in direct defiance of his request. “Diana traveled all this way specifically to ensure my well-being, given the… unusual circumstances of our union. I will not send her away simply because it doesn’t align with your notion of perfect marital theatre. ”

“It is not about theater,” Richard protested, his own voice rising to match hers.

“It is about establishing the proper foundation for our relationship in the eyes of the ton. If we cannot manage even the basic expectations of a honeymoon period, what hope do we have for convincing the ton that our marriage is?—”

A loud peal of laughter from the drawing room cut through their heated exchange. Both turned simultaneously toward the sound, their argument momentarily forgotten as they stared at the partially open door.

Jane moved first, pushing the door wider to reveal Diana, hand pressed to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her mirth.

When Diana caught them watching her, she made a visible effort to school her features, though her eyes were still dancing with barely suppressed mirth.

“I do apologize,” she said, not sounding remotely sorry. “It’s just that… well, you both seem to be getting along so splendidly.”

Jane felt her face flame with embarrassment, while Richard’s expression shifted to one of affronted dignity.

They must have presented quite the spectacle, she realized. The dignified Duke of Myste and his new Duchess, bickering in the corridor like characters in a poorly performed comedy.

“Diana!” Jane hissed, her mortification warring with the urge to laugh at her sister’s unexpected impertinence.

Diana made another valiant attempt to suppress her amusement, but the effort only seemed to make it worse. More giggles escaped her lips, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. “You’re glaring at me in perfect unison,” she gasped. “How remarkably synchronized you are already.”

Jane glanced at Richard, surprised to find him fixing her with the same look of irritation and disbelief she suspected was mirrored on her own face.

The sheer absurdity of the situation struck her then—their first true moment of marital unity coming in the form of shared exasperation with her sister’s ill-timed humor.

With a decisive movement, Jane closed the drawing room door, leaving Diana to recover her composure in private. She turned back to Richard, finding him still watching her with that unreadable expression that seemed to be his default state.

“My sister can be somewhat… na?ve at times,” she offered, feeling a peculiar need to explain Diana’s behavior even though the comment had contained more truth than either of them cared to admit.

Richard nodded, the gesture carrying reluctant acknowledgment. “Indeed.” His tone had lost some of its earlier sharpness, the edge of anger softened by the unexpected interruption. “You should not tarry too long. The tea will get cold.”

The mundane observation, delivered with such formal correctness after their heated exchange, struck Jane as oddly endearing. It was precisely the sort of consideration that revealed glimpses of the man beneath the facade—a man who apparently had opinions about the proper temperature of tea.

“Yes, that would be tragic, indeed,” she replied, unable to keep the irony from her voice. “Far worse than scandalizing Society by allowing my sister to call during our honeymoon.”

Silence fell between them then, neither hostile nor uncomfortable, but carrying a strange current of awareness that made Jane’s pulse quicken.

Richard’s eyes met hers, the hazel depths revealing a flash of something that might almost have been humor, before his usually guarded expression reasserted itself.

The corridor suddenly felt even narrower than before, the very air between them charged with an energy Jane had no desire to examine too closely at present.

She found herself noticing the strong line of his jaw, the way his perfectly tailored coat accentuated his broad shoulders, and the faint scent of sandalwood and leather that always seemed to cling to him.

Richard cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the unexpected connection. “I shall leave you to your visitor,” he said, taking a step back to restore proper distance between them. “Please convey my regards to your sister before she departs.”

“I will.” Jane smoothed down her skirts—a nervous gesture that she had thought long conquered. “Thank you for your… understanding.”

Something that might have been a smile touched Richard’s lips before disappearing just as quickly. “Until dinner, then, Duchess,” he said, offering a slight bow before turning with military precision and striding away.

Jane watched him go, acutely aware of the confusing mixture of irritation and reluctant fascination that seemed to characterize her every encounter with her new husband lately.

He was infuriating in his rigid adherence to propriety, maddening in his certainty, and yet occasionally, in unguarded moments, oddly compelling in a way she had no intention of acknowledging—even to herself.

With a slight shake of her head to clear such unwelcome thoughts, Jane turned back to the drawing room, where Diana waited, no doubt bursting with questions about the encounter she had witnessed.

One difficult conversation at a time, she decided, plastering a smile on her face as she opened the door to face her sister’s curiosity.

The tea, as Richard had predicted, had indeed gone cold.